“If you’re trying to bore me, you failed. What happened to Cocoa?”
“I looked for her. I looked for half the freaking day.”
There's a quiver in her voice, as though she’s reliving all the panic and anxiety of that day all those years ago. My whole body thrums at the never-ending stream of contentment I feel when I think about how caring and selfless my woman is.
“And then finally I found her.”
“Where was she?” I ask.
We pause as Boxcar leaves the path and walks over to a nearby tree, cocking his leg and marking it, always with that happy conquer-the-world grin on his face.
“She was still in the cage,” Maddie says. “She’d burrowed right down in the back and fallen asleep there I guess. I found her standing at the edge of her little den, looking at me like she was trying to tell me something.”
“What do you think she was trying to say?” I murmur, emotion pricking me at the deep passion in her voice.
“I think…” She bites her lip, glances at me, eyes glimmering invitingly. “She was trying to tell me that I don’t always have to search for things. That sometimes things are right there, right in front of you.”
Like us, the unspoken message burns in the air between us.
“Come on,” I tell her, pulling her toward the park’s exit as Boxcar bounds after us.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“I want to show you something,” I tell her. “Something I’ve never shown anyone. Something I’ve never even thought about showing to anyone else.”
I lean down and clip Boxcar’s leash to his harness, pausing to give him a tickle under the chin.
“That sounds… important,” she murmurs.
Standing, I nod, as long-ago pain whispers at the edges of my happiness. “We’re going to start a future together, a bright and joy filled future. I think it’s only fair that you see how obsessed I’ve been with the past.”
We walk together toward the exit, Maddie giving me looks out of the corner of her eye, full of curiosity.
Chapter Twenty-One
Maddison
He drives us to a warehouse at the edge of the docks, saying little as he guides the car, his hands making tight fists on the steering wheel. The closer we get to the docks, the tighter the tension in him becomes, until soon it’s like he’s going to turn back. Or blow.
I want to ask him where we’re going, but a warning whispers in my mind telling me to wait and let him share this in his own time. Whatever it is, it’s clearly important to him, and the last thing I want to do is pressure him and make him nervous.
Heck, make Madden Mitchell nervous?
But I can’t think of another word for the way he’s behaving, with his eyes flitting here and there, his body seemingly full of frenetic energy.
I cradle Boxcar in my arms, stroking my hand rhythmically over his fur, soothing him and myself with each movement.
Finally, Madden stops outside the warehouse. He looks over at me, the sun shining across the ocean and framing him in a silhouette. He bites down, as though swallowing his words, and then turns to look at the warehouse.
“I need to tell you something before we go in,” he says.
I reach over and touch his hand, stroking it until he softens his iron grip on the steering wheel. “It’s okay.”
He chuckles grimly but moves his hand to mine all the same. “You don’t know what it is yet.”
“Whatever it is,” I say forcefully, “we will face it together. And if it isn’t okay, we’ll make it okay.”
I remember how he swore on his parents that this was real. I remember how I needed that assurance.
But now, when he looks at me – understanding and commitment and pure heat flash in his expression – I don‘t have to ask. I know, deep in my gut, my bones, my soul, that he’s mine and I’m his.
“For a long time, I blamed myself for my parent’s death,” he says.
“What? How?”
“I was sleeping when the storm hit. I was such a heavy sleeper back then, and my old man had to come below deck to get me. He slipped and hit his head, and he was concussed for the whole storm, meaning he wasn’t as sharp as he could’ve been. He wasn’t as ready to face the storm.”
I grab his hand tighter. “Madden, you were a child.”
“I know. Oh, I know.” He brings my hand to his lips, kissing it softly, a warm imprint on my skin. “Objectively, I know I was a child. I know it wasn’t my fault. But for years afterwards, even if I knew this, I couldn’t let myself believe it. It was as though if I let go of the pain, I’d have to let go of their memories too.”
I lean forward, kissing his cheek tenderly, and then remain close. So he knows I’m here. I’ll always be here.